


How to apologise for being a clotpole: a guide

by Shamelessly_Radiant



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Fix-it, Episode: s02e01 The Curse of Cornelius Sigan, I actually wrote some tiny bit of slash for them, Light Angst, M/M, There's no way back now, i did it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 19:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21281777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamelessly_Radiant/pseuds/Shamelessly_Radiant
Summary: Merlin does not forgive Arthur at once for the whole Cedric affair, and Arthur has to deal with guilt, fixing his mistakes, asking for forgiveness and facing the possible losses and fallout of being, well, a clotpole.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 443





	How to apologise for being a clotpole: a guide

**Author's Note:**

> Two for the price of one today! Enjoy!

“No.” Merlin says.

“No?” asks Arthur, incredulous, as he turns back, only to have his retort die a pitiful death in his throat as he notices how the boy is practically vibrating in anger.

“No.” Merlin repeats, and Arthur could swear his eyes shine gold before he blinks the disparity away. “You’ve made it more than clear you don’t need me, _sire_. I’m happy to resign my post and allow you to find a more worthy servant, as you’ve indicated you’d prefer.”

And with that, he slams down his plate and storms off to his room.

Arthur gaping, half amused and half angry, turns to look at Gaius, but the man is looking disapprovingly back at him, eyebrow raised high. Arthur barely manages to supress a shudder.

_What was that all about?_ Arthur wants to ask, but he doesn’t dare, because he has the sinking feeling he should know, and he doesn’t like the feeling of guilt that accompanies it.

“Perhaps, sire,” Gaius says, eyebrow still fixed high, “a little credit where credit is due could go a long way. Excuse me.”

He picks up Merlin’s plate and hobbles towards his door, asking him if he wants to finish his supper.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” comes through the door, and Arthur takes that as his cue to leave.

.

He gives Merlin the next day off. Sends someone to collect his armour and inform Merlin of the fact, and very much doesn’t reflect on how that makes him feel like a coward.

.

The day after that, he’s rudely awoken by glaring sun and a lack of covers. “Which clothes should I ready for you today, my lord?” comes a voice, and it takes Arthur a few seconds to locate Merlin next to his closet, head bent down, mulishly avoiding Arthur’s gaze.

“The everyday tunic and clothes, as usual, _Merlin_,” he tries to banter and fails, falling flat as Merlin now efficiently gathers Arthur’s clothing, depositing it next to his changing screen.

“I’ll go fetch your breakfast, sire.” And he leaves, before Arthur even has had the chance to stand up fully. He sighs, feeling suddenly alone in the big and empty room.

.

This continues for a good week. Merlin deferential to the point of being almost rude, and Arthur valiantly ignoring this fact, until it comes to a head Friday evening.

“Will that be all, my lord?” Merlin asks, already by the door and Arthur snaps.

“Stop calling me that!”

“Sire?”

“Nor that! And look me in the face, will you?”

Merlin looks up, setting his jaw. “I don’t understand what the problem is, my lieg—” but at least now he cuts off at Arthur’s threatening gaze.

“_My lord. Sire.”_ Arthur mimics harshly, taking a step forward. “You’ve never once been deferential in your life, Merlin, it’s hardly time to start now.”

“Well forgive me,” Merlin snaps, looking furious, “I thought that was what you _wanted._”

“When did I ever give that impression?” Arthur questions angrily, taking another step forward.

“Constantly!” Merlin explodes. “You’re constantly going off about me being a terrible servant, never doing anything right, and then you are ready to replace me quicker than at a snap of your fingers—”

“Is this about _Cedric_?” Arthur asks, “Merlin, were you jealous?”

“I do _everything _for you,” Merlin bellows, and in his voice suddenly sounds the thunder of a thousand thunderstorms, his shadow seems to grow twice his size, the windowpanes shutter loudly and threateningly and Arthur breathes in, shocked, and could swear there is electricity crackling at Merlin’s fingertips. Still, still, this doesn’t stop him from yelling back, “yes, because that’s your _job_, isn’t it?”

And at that, Merlin’s eyes flash once, before he suddenly deflates, and Arthur has a terrible moment of realisation, knows that he has just made a terrible, terrible mistake, as he watches Merlin almost crumble into himself, watches the flash of hurt that washes over the other man’s face as he murmurs “Yes, sire, apparently so.”

“I, no, _wait_—” and he steps forward quickly, pushing the door shut and trapping Merlin between his arms before he can leave, “that’s not how I meant it—”

“Isn’t it?” Merlin asks, rightly bitter and self-deprecating, and Arthur can just imagine how Gaius’ eyebrow will twist and _rise _as Merlin tells him this later, how if he doesn’t fix this _right now_ it will be too broken to ever fix again, and he breathes out harshly because he has never been good with words and feelings and, and _stuff_ but Merlin is still not looking at him, and Arthur doesn’t want to loose the only friend he’s ever had.

“I apologise,” he says, stuffy and tense, not quite meeting’s Merlin’s eyes as they rise and settle incredulously on his face, “for, for everything. I should’ve… I shouldn’t have… I—” he breathes out harshly, and Merlin’s face starts to twist into a grin. It is still cautious, and small, but there, nonetheless.

“Yes?” Merlin prompts.

“I—” Arthur looks at him helplessly, and the boy takes pity on him. Pity he is all too aware of he does not deserve, but he is not about to complain.

“I think what you mean is, you were too big of a clotpole too appreciate me, you should’ve trusted me and you’ll try to remember to say thanks every once in a while instead of being such a huge prat to me.”

“I— yeah, something like that,” Arthur smiles, the genuine happiness on Merlin’s face infectious, and allows himself to look, to truly look at his face, at the wonder on it, the way he looks at Arthur as if he has hung up the moon and stars in the sky.

Merlin makes to escape under his arms, but Arthur pushes back against his shoulder to hold him back before he has even consciously decided to do so.

“There’s something else,” he says, getting the words out difficulty because his mouth is suddenly as dry as the desert and his heart is currently beating somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.

Merlin, wide-eyed and blushing, the _girl_, doesn’t seem to be faring much better. “Yes?” he whispers back, and Arthur feels queasy, uncertain and off balance, as if he’s hovering over the precipice of something, something _big _and _scary _but also _wonderful _and _worth it _even if he feels that if he falls, if he lets go, if he takes the last step, there will be no way but down, no way to scramble back up, no way to recover.

“I—I,” Arthur growls, frustrated, looking away, and then Merlin’s fingertips are soft and sure on his face. “I know,” he whispers back, “me too.” And there is such wonder on his face, as if he never would have dared belief or imagine or _hope _and then Merlin’s lips are on his, soft and dry and just the tiny bit chapped and lovely, and after a second, or perhaps a beat of his heart, Arthur kisses him back, and knows it will all be very frustrating, and that they will clash often and horribly, and that Merlin is certainly more than he seems, and that yet, wonderfully, it will all be alright.


End file.
